d not fear the leader of the Brotherhood for himself, but for
Arithelli--Arithelli, the drudge, the tool, the "errand boy," as she
had called herself.

Perhaps in time even she would become a heartless machine.

Human life had seemed so cheap and of so little account to him once,
but since he had loved her--

She could never live among such people and in such scenes, and still
remain unscarred.

Again the little desperate face rose before him.

If they did not succeed in killing her soon by their brutalities, she
would commit suicide to escape from the horrors that surrounded her.

It had never occurred to Vardri to be jealous of Emile.

With the curious insight that love gives he had formed a true idea of
the relationship between the oddly-assorted pair. He had never thought
of himself as her lover.

To him she was always the Ideal, the divinity enthroned.

He was content to kiss her feet, and to lay before them service and
sacrifice.

Yet, though he might build a wall of love around her, he knew it could
give her no protection against the realities of her present life.

She had given him dreams, and in them he could forget all other things,
the things that the world calls real.

Everything had vanished as a mist--the dirty room, the chill of the
dawn, his own physical wretchedness.

He heard only the honey-sweet voice, saw only the outstretched hand of
friendship.

"_Mon ami_," she had called him, he who had never aspired higher than
to be known as her servant.

CHAPTER VIII

"For all things born one gate
Opens, . . . and no man sees
Beyond the gods and Fate."
SWINBURNE.

WHEN Emile arrived at the Hippodrome, only a few minutes after his
usual time, he found no one but the dresser, who was clearing away the
litter of clothes, jewellery, powder-puffs and flowers.

Arithelli had vanished.

She had never before failed to wait for him, and he knew she would not
have started alone without some very good reason. He questioned the
dresser and found she knew nothing beyond that "La Nina," as she called
the girl affectionately, had left immediately after her last turn. She
had asked if the Senor had been in yet, but hearing he had not, she had
dressed and gone at once. She had not even stayed to put on a cloak,
and had left her hair still in a plait, and only a _velo_ over it. She
had seemed in great haste (but that was always so with the English!)
and had looked ill. Th